Winter Turns to Spring
by TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: A series of one-shots which detail Belle and Adam's life pre-, during-, and post-curse. 2017!Verse. UPDATE: Noël, Noël
1. Chapter 1

**Rumour Mill**

Adam looked over at Belle, who was still gamely reading even though it was long past midnight.

"Darling?"

"I'm almost finished with this chapter," she said.

"You said that an hour ago."

"I'm on a different chapter now."

"Belle! It's past an hour after midnight!"

She shut the book, pouting in that way she only did when she was teasing him. "And here I thought you loved my eccentric reading habits."

"You know what they'll think, the two of us up so late, unchaperoned."

Belle actually laughed out loud. "The wedding is in two days, sweetheart. Do they think that if we're left alone for as much as five minutes, I'll magically produce a child seven months after the wedding instead of nine - despite neither of us so much as touching the other, might I add?"

"They're just worried," Adam said. "They know I was … well, you know." Belle did, in fact, know - the morning after the curse, both of them had had a long, frank discussion about each other's pasts.

She hummed thoughtfully. "Come over here," she said, patting the space beside her. Once he shuffled over, she manhandled him so that his head rested on her lap as she read.

"I could sleep like this," he said.

"Good. If they're going to talk, let's give them something to talk about."

* * *

 **I Know You**

The Beast had transformed. They had kissed - one magical, earth-shattering kiss. And then, much to Belle's embarrassment, she had burst into tears.

"Belle!" the young man said, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. "It's alright, I'm here. I'm alright."

"Are - are you sure?" Belle sobbed. "Because I'm pretty - pretty sure you got shot in the back three times - _three times_ , my - my dear, dear -"

She had dissolved into tears again, and the Beast - the prince, she supposed - pulled her close against his chest. She heard the strong beat of his heart, and it was inconceivable that less than a minute ago she had heard it stop, seemingly forever.

But here he stood, kissing the top of her head and stroking her hair.

Eventually, she calmed down enough to stop sobbing, although a few stray tears still fell. "I'm sorry - I'm normally never like this."

"I know," he said, and it was less an assurance of her emotional state than a proclamation that he _did_ know her.

* * *

 **Marital Bliss**

Belle and Adam broke away from each other, and the congregation exploded with cheers. Maurice, a few steps away, had whipped out a handkerchief. Lefou and Stanley, along with the other villagers, were on their feet cheering. The castle servants were just as joyful, and on cue the maids opened the balcony doors to the wide sunlight, as Belle and Adam smiled and nodded their thanks to Pere Robert for marrying them.

The gold ring, adorned with a luminescent opal, was nowhere near as ornate as Belle had feared it would be. The matching thick band on Adam's hand seemed to suit him immensely - and Belle was hit with the realisation that she would get to see that ring on his finger every day for the rest of their lives. They walked sedately to the balcony, having been prepared by Cogsworth the night before.

"The Crown Prince, Louis-Alexandre Vincent Adam Christophe, and his bride, the Crown Princess, Marie-Isabelle Beaumont!"

"It's going to be loud out there, darling," he said - their first words as husband and wife. "Are you ready?"

"For you, dear husband? Always."

He smiled that blinding smile she had seen more and more as she got to know him, and they stepped out on the balcony together, to greet the people of France.

* * *

 **Let it Snow**

Belle slowly walked away from Phillippe and the Beast, once she was sure that her horse wouldn't rear up again. The look of wonder on his face as he slowly petted the horse … there was an earnestness in there that Belle instinctively recognised as private. She hadn't missed the reflexive gasp he'd made when she moved his paw onto Phillippe, nor the almost shy look he'd given her out the corner of his eye. It was out of character for the grumpy, snobbish Beast to act so hesitantly – both towards Phillippe, and Belle herself.

 _How long has it been since he was touched – or touched someone else?_ she wondered as she started climbing the steps. The servants obviously couldn't touch him – most of them didn't even have limbs. And all animal life was absent from the castle, besides the wolves that hung around the woods outside. She had never directly asked the servants where the meat and vegetables she ate came from, but she suspected it had something to do with the curse that hung over them all.

 _Kind of the person that cursed him, to ensure he wouldn't starve_ , she scoffed. She pulled the hood of the red cloak over her head as the cold began to sink in again. The eternal winter – or at least, Belle assumed it was eternal – was another mystery in itself. Even though she was dying to know all the castle's secrets, she knew that they were entitled to their privacy.

Belle stopped at the little balcony which led back into the castle, and was already covered in a thick blanket of snow. Yesterday it had been completely bare, and the snow had only begun that morning. She picked up a loose handful of the stuff, an almost painful sensation sinking into her palm. Belle glanced back over at the Beast and Phillippe, who seemed to be getting along much better now. The wonder in his eyes had been overtaken by a deep melancholy, and she could see him sigh and shake his head.

 _Oh, God, he's serious – too serious for a man supposedly my age_ , Belle thought. Without really thinking about it, she let the powdery snow fly loose from her hand, striking him dead in the shoulder.

The look of disbelief and shattered dignity on the Beast's face was enough to send Belle into a fit of laughter. He bent down and scooped up an armful of snow, patting it into one large snowball. He hefted it up, and sent it soaring, overarm, directly towards Belle.

Belle had time to think, _Oh dear_ , before it struck her in the face and sent her flying back. She could hear his chuckle from the ground below, and hopped back up once she had her breath back.

"I hope you realise this means war!" she shouted, huddling below the little wall as she began stockpiling snowballs.

"Bring it on!" he laughed – or rather, began to laugh. Belle had darted up and chucked a snowball directly at his face, and the Beast let out a most undignified squawk at the shock.

"Come on, then!" she laughed.

Mrs. Potts was torn between laughter and a scolding when, half an hour later, both Belle and the Beast were stood sheepishly in the main hall dripping wet, snow still on her hair and his fur.

* * *

 **Not A Romance**

Adam was only half-paying attention to the words on the page when he noticed Belle staring at him. He tried to ignore it and immerse himself further into the world of _The Wife of Bath's Tale_ (it was _not_ a romance if Arthur and Guinevere only featured as Gawain's deus ex machina), but he could still feel her eyes on him.

After several minutes of reading the same paragraph, he placed the book on the side table and turned to face her. "What is it?" he asked, with fond exasperation.

"Oh, nothing," Belle said, with that maddening little half-smile she wore sometimes. "It's just cute when you blush."

"I – I do _not_ –" he spluttered. Now that she had pointed it out, however, he was acutely aware of his hot face. Silently cursing his colouring for showing any emotion as a rush of blood, Adam picked the book up again.

"You _do_ ," Belle grinned. "Oh, come on, dear, don't sulk."

Adam laid the book down and quirked an eyebrow – something he knew Belle couldn't do, which drove her insane.

She laughed again, setting her own book aside and gracefully sitting beside him on the little sofa. Adam marked the place and laid _The Wife of Bath_ down, laying one arm over her shoulders. Belle ran her fingers through the hair near his temples, and he hummed lightly. He leaned his head down, playfully (and carefully) knocking his forehead against hers. A smile curved over his lips, and he still couldn't quite believe his luck as Belle pulled him into a kiss. His hand stayed by her waist and shoulder, and hers by his face and neck; their kisses had lost the intense heat of the first few days post-curse, although not the passion.

As they pulled away, he leant forwards once more to steal another chaste kiss from her lips, and Belle chuckled quietly. She leaned over him to pick her book up again – Adam only realised a moment too late that she'd left her book on the other chair.

" _The Wife of Bath's Tale_?" she asked, a wry grin on her face. "Dear, I thought you _disliked_ romances?"

"I – well, actually, it's about Gawain's adventure with the Loathly Lady–"

"You're blushing again," Belle said with obvious glee. "All these months I thought you were some serious, grim man, and you blush as quickly as a –"

The rest of her sentence was lost in a playful shriek when Adam scooped her up, book and all, and hefted her halfway across the room like a bride.

* * *

 **Realisations**

Belle watched in helpless fury from the inside of the wagon as Gaston and what seemed like half the village rode off to the castle. She grasped the bars and shook them violently, knowing even as she did so that it would make no difference. Even when she had been in the prison cell, the day she first met the Beast, she hadn't been so helpless – there had always been the option, near-suicidal though it might have been, of attempting the leap from the wall-less cell to the platform several feet across, despite the looming darkness beneath. But in the tight space of the wagon, Belle couldn't even stand up straight, let alone force her way out.

She slumped back onto her heels in defeat, trying her best not to think about what might happen to the servants in the castle once Gaston arrived. It had been a stupid decision on her part, and she had realised it as soon as Gaston started talking over her, but Belle couldn't let him take her father away when he was innocent.

Maurice himself shuffled forwards, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, Belle," he said soothingly.

"No, it's not!" she cried out. "I have to warn the Beast that he's coming – Papa, if something happens to him and it's my fault –"

" _Warn_ him?" Maurice's eyebrows shot up. "You just got away from him!"

"No, Papa – I didn't get away. He let me go." She could still remember the pain in his eyes as he did so. It had clearly cost him something to release her. And she was repaying him by sending an angry mob of people right to his doorstep.

"That – that _creature_ who imprisoned me? Who took you from me?"

"Papa …" Belle said, turning towards him and taking his hands in hers. His fingers were still like blocks of ice, and she rubbed them gently. "He – he was wrong to do that. I'm not making an excuse for him. But he's not a creature, and he's not a monster."

"Then what is he?" Maurice asked, humouring her.

"Honestly? He's a grumpy, ridiculous book snob."

Maurice laughed, as she hoped he would.

"He reads romance novels and enjoys them – not that he'd ever admit it. He likes dancing, and put up with my terrible waltz. He laughs at my jokes, even the bad ones. He makes truly _awful_ puns. He pretends to be serious and grim, but he's really just a little bit up himself. And …"

"You're in love with him," Maurice realised.

Belle sucked in a breath. Had it been so obvious, just from one short conversation? She hadn't realised herself until the moment the Beast let her go how deep her feelings ran. But she had said nothing at the time – saving Maurice had been her priority. _And look how well that turned out_ , she thought.

"I have to help him," she said, looking her father in the eye.

"It'll be dangerous," Maurice said.

"Yes. Yes, it will." she said.

Belle could see the instant that her father got an idea. "I could try picking the lock?" he suggested. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said, and meant it.

* * *

 **To Have and to Hold**

The Beast placed the pile of books down on the table, rolling his shoulders subtly as he did so. The library hadn't exactly _needed_ categorising – he kept things pretty well-organised, if he said so himself – but seven years was long enough for any system to become a little cluttered. He and Belle had been attacking the shelves for three days now, and had moved from economic history to social history in that time. Originally, they had sorted the books into two piles – the correct shelf, and the incorrect. After Belle's eyes had lit up at the third book she'd picked up, they had added a third pile – to-be-read.

He smiled fondly, walking back to Belle, halfway up the ladder. Sorting through the books had helped him remember some of his own old favourites, and he'd shown some of them to Belle. She'd wrinkled her nose at some of them (and even _he_ had to admit that his tastes were a little dry at times), but others had kept her fingers lingering on the cover.

She had only given the Beast half of the pile in her arms to carry to the table, and even as he walked over she was still adding books. She went up another rung of the ladder, reaching up for another book just out of reach.

The next few seconds passed at almost painful slowness. One of her feet slipped on the polished wood of the rung. Stretched up as she was, Belle overbalanced, the other foot losing its grip as well. She began to fall backwards, the ten or so books in her other arm careening out of her arms in all directions.

He wasn't sure how he crossed the few feet that separated them – whether it was magic, physics, or merely his own physical speed. But before Belle had time to do anything other than let out a gasp, she was safely in the Beast's arms, the books clattering abandoned on the floor. He carried her a few steps away from the ladder on instinct, tightening around her back and knees where he had Belle in a bridal hold. Her fingers had twisted into his shirt, and the Beast was acutely aware of both their racing hearts.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he said.

Belle let out a shaky laugh. "Thank you," she said, patting his chest gently where her hands lay. "I suppose that'll teach me not to bite off more than I can chew."

The Beast chuckled. He realised that she was still in his arms – probably not where she wanted to be, given the limited physical contact they had established thus far – and regretfully lowered her to the ground again.

For the rest of the time they were in the library, and even hours later back in the West Wing, the Beast could feel the warmth of her body in his arms, and the unquestioning trust with which she had sunk into the embrace.

* * *

 **Such Stuff As Dreams**

"Hmm?" Belle turned her head, trying to catch what Adam had just said. "I'm awake."

"No, you're not," he smiled. "It's alright, I'll tell you later."

"No, I am – definitely awake," Belle said, pausing to yawn in the middle of her sentence.

Adam laughed quietly, the vibrations of his chest echoing pleasantly in her ear. His arm rested around her shoulders, their legs twisted together beneath the duvet. She felt him press a kiss to her brow. "You're cute when you're sleepy," he said.

"Shush," Belle said. "If you're not going to tell me what you said, you might as well sleep too."

"Alright, night-tyrant," he teased. He blew out the candle on the bedside, and laid his book aside. Belle absently registered the warmth sinking over her as the duvet being pulled up, and the weight on her waist as her husband's arm. But she was already sinking back into sleep.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey! This is a cross-posting of all the 2017!verse stories and prompts I've received and completed involving Belle and Adam. Think of this as a counterpoint to The Beauty of a Beast – I'll be posting snippets and stories involving them pre-, during-, and post-curse, like with that collection.**

 **These are all so short that they're going in one chapter, but subsequent chapters will be their own self-contained stories.**

 **Also, let this be notice that I'm accepting prompts for Yuletide celebrations! Modern AU? 1991!verse? 2017!verse? Send me a PM/leave a comment and I'll give it a go!**

 **TheTeaIsAddictive**


	2. Chapter 2 - Noël, Noël

**Noël, Noël**

The week before Christmas had always been a busy time for the castle. What with last-minute preparations for the family's private dinner, the annual Christmas ball, and presents for the servant's own families, a special kind of panic came over them all after the third Advent Sunday had passed. This year, the first after the curse, was especially panicked because all of them had fallen out of the way of their roles in the intervening years.

"Is everything alright with Cogsworth?" Belle asked in that busy week, walking into Adam's study. "Only I've just seen him running down the hallway muttering something about garlands and lace."

"Cogsworth likes to work himself up about everything," Adam said, rubbing his eyes as he leaned away from the latest Bills from the parlement. "Christmas is a special excuse to do just that. He'll settle down, don't worry."

"If you say so," Belle said, a small frown wrinkling her brow. "Is he always like this at Christmas?"

Adam pushed his chair out a little, turning it to face his fiancée. Without needing an invitation, Belle settled on the arm, as Adam wound his arms around her legs and waist, securing her. She ran her fingers through his hair, which had loosened from his queue due to his enduring habit of running his hands through it while feeling pressured. "I think so," he answered. "When I was a child, I didn't notice the servants at all. And before the curse . . . well, knowing him now, I'd say he was as stressed as always."

"What was it like? Christmas, I mean?" Belle asked.

"Much the same as it's going to be this year," Adam said, running his fingers over her textured belt. "Mass on Christmas Eve. Réveillon early on Christmas morning. A ball that night. We used to have Réveillon after we got back from the service, but apparently I fell asleep in the turkey once when I was four, so we switched it."

Belle laughed at the mental image, as he thought she might. "And the ball?" she asked with a hint of nervousness. "What was that like?"

"It . . . was a ball?" he said, shrugging slightly. "I wasn't allowed to attend when I was little, and when I grew older it just became like any other ball to me." He could see the worry on Belle's face, and he pulled her a little closer – she came dangerously close to sliding into his lap, grasping the back of the chair with one hand to support herself. "You don't have to worry," he said. "You're a much better public speaker than I am, and if you dance a lot you'll be too out of breath to be nervous about talking to whoever you're partnered with. So between the two of us, I think we've got it covered."

"Charmer," she smirked. "You always know what to say."

"And what not to say," he said. With a rakish wink, he pulled Belle fully onto his lap and kissed her. With a sigh of contentment, she wrapped her arms around his neck like the ribbon on a present. After a few moments of letting their lips move gently against each other, Belle pulled back.

"I don't see any mistletoe," she gasped with fake outrage. "Why, you are taking a sincere liberty!"

"I'll get some for the ball," he said. "Hang them in the alcoves, and draw you over to them any chance I can."

"Sounds like a plan," she laughed, and leaned up to kiss him again.

* * *

As promised, Cogsworth produced several garlands for the ballroom in the next two days. He had also, somehow, arranged for lengths of ornate white lace to be sent to Belle and Madame the next day.

"Cogsworth, this is beautiful," Belle gasped, running her fingers over it carefully. "Where on earth did you get it?"

"I asked my sister what would be an appropriate gift," he said in a blustering fashion. "I don't know what young ladies like, so I knew that getting a gift for you would be even harder." Belle smiled, and she swore she saw a twinkle in the old man's eye. The subject of her lack of propriety had been one which, although initially a cause of confusion on Cogsworth's part, had resulted in a sort of running joke between them. "Clothilde suggested lacework; she had been working on some on and off over the summer, and she wanted to give you something."

 _As an apology,_ he didn't need to say.

"Oh!" Belle gasped. "She _made_ this?"

"From scratch," Cosgworth said, puffing his chest up. "She can be . . . abrasive, I know – and a tough haggler to boot. But my sister has her softer side. Consider it a gift from both of us."

"Oh, Cogsworth," Belle said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. He blushed, making noises of displeasure which were clearly faked. "Thank you. _Both_ of you. Madame," she said, turning back, "is there any way we could attach this to what I'm wearing at the ball?"

"I am already far ahead of you, _cara_ ," Madame said. "Some around the cuffs, a little on the neckline – and fashion the rest into a small belt. Simple, understated, but unmistakable. What do you think?"

"It sounds perfect," Belle said. "Thank you, as well. I'm afraid to even touch this, in case I stain it in any way."

"Then go, go!" Madame said, flapping her hands in Belle's direction. "The girls will be here for their lessons soon, anyway."

With another smile for the both of them, Belle left the room and made her way to the library. The largest room had become a school area for the girls of the village – although Belle had stressed that the boys were welcome to join if they wished. In the three and a half months the school had been open, she'd yet to see a man other than Adam, Cogsworth, or Chip step in while the girls were in session. The girls got on grandly without them, however, and Belle had made great strides in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Her (admittedly lofty) goal had been for all the girls to be able to read and write their own names by Christmastime. So far, only five of the ten girls could tell their capital letters apart; of those five, only three could write their initial down without tracing over it. But even though the girls were progressing slowly, it gave Belle an inescapable sense of pride to know that they were progressing at all.

"She'll be a good ruler," Cogsworth said quietly to Belle's retreating figure as she mused on the school.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Cogsworth," Madame said steadily. "His Highness has not been coronated, and the two of them are only just engaged. They have a long way to go before they can take over responsibility for the principality."

"Her tact," he said, ignoring her. "Very important quality in a ruler, that. Christine had it."

Madame paused in her measurements of the lace. Cogsworth rarely spoke of Adam's mother, even less than Lumière and Chapeau did. She privately suspected that of all the staff who had worked there at the time, only Mrs. Potts had truly processed her grief. As she and Cadenza had still been living in Italy during the Princess's life and death, a spark of curiosity and pity filled her. "It is hard when one's master dies, is it not?" she said.

"I first met Christine when she was seven years old," Cogsworth said. "She was more like a younger sister or a cousin than a master." With a sniff, he produced a snow-white handkerchief from within the depths of his jacket. Dabbing at his eyes, he continued speaking. "She always liked Christmas. Even when things were dire with the old Master, she could find happiness during this season. It's good to see Adam embracing it all again."

"You know they'll love whatever we produce," Madame said softly. "For them, our worth is not tied to our performance." The words she didn't say hung deliberately between them.

"Yes, well," Cogsworth said, tucking his handkerchief away. "We have our little rituals for those we remember as well as the ones we still have, don't we? I for one am looking forwards to whatever asinine prank Lumière will try to pull on me this year."

Madame smiled, picking up a small pair of scissors as Cogsworth walked out the room. While it was true that Christmas had been a melancholy time during the curse, she couldn't help but feel a spark of cheer at the thought of what next week would bring.

* * *

After Réveillon that morning, but hours before the evening ball, Belle and Adam secluded themselves in the library – not the wide, open space which was used for the schoolroom and today stood blank and empty, but one of the smaller side rooms.

"Are you ready for your gift?" Belle asked. The gift in question was in her hands at that very moment, and the whole reason they were alone in the first place, but Adam still smiled at Belle asking him. She handed it over and looked at him intently while he carefully ripped apart the packaging.

"Belle, this is . . ." He lifted up a long, midnight-blue scarf. Intricate cable designs had been worked up it, and he could see hints of gold where she had clearly added another yarn for a few rows. The yarn had been tied off at either end, but was not yet sewn in – had he known more about knitting, he would have also been able to tell that the piece had not been blocked yet.

"I know it's simple," Belle blurted out when Adam was still silent. "But I didn't really know what to get you, and I didn't want to go back to Villeneuve just now and deal with . . . well, with everything. But I can knit, so I asked Madame if she had any spare yarn, and I saw the blue and thought – well, I thought it would suit you. But it's not quite finished – I literally just cast off this morning, and I haven't had time to –"

"You made this? For me?" Adam asked.

"Yes," Belle said. "Do you like it?"

In answer, Adam wrapped the scarf around his neck immediately. "I love it," he said. "Thank you, so much." He leaned over to kiss her, as another, natural way to show his gratitude. "Although now I feel much more insecure about my present," he said. "You made something for me with your own two hands, and I _bought_ something."

"Don't be silly," Belle said, still a little red. "You always put such thought into everything – and besides, it's Christmas, not a competition."

Adam mumbled a disagreement, although the actual words were indistinct, and hefted a large box onto the table. It, too, was wrapped in paper and ribbon, and Belle immediately tied the fabric to her belt – an old money-saving habit, from when times were harder for her and Maurice and which the years had refused to shake from her. The torn paper revealed a good-sized wooden box with a brass handle. Birds, leaves, and forget-me-nots were painted on the lid, although the body of the box was plain, varnished wood.

"A box?" she asked.

"Open it," Adam laughed nervously.

Belle lifted off the lid. Inside was a wide array of sturdy tools; a hammer, small gears, clippers, screwdrivers, metal rulers of various lengths, and small boxes of screws and nails. As Belle lifted them out slowly, she saw that there was another layer of tools underneath. Although it was clear that they were intended for serious use, and not decoration, an ornate blue 'B' had been painted on to each tool, where applicable.

"Adam . . ." she said slowly.

"I remember you said that you wanted to do some more tinkering," Adam said quietly. "But that you didn't want to always inconvenience the handymen or your father for tools. I asked around to see what most toolboxes were stocked with, so there should be a good selection there. It's not very specialised, though. And I hope you don't mind the 'B', but I thought it might be nice for you to be able to tell which tools were yours. Oh – the box is part of your present, too. Your father helped me decorate it."

Belle laid her new tools down carefully, patting them with the tips of her fingers. The next moment, she had leaned over and captured Adam's lips in a rapturous kiss. Adam closed his eyes and let the scent of her hair and the movements of her lips sweep him away for a moment, before pushing her away with one hand. "You like it, then?" he asked, his thumb stroking her collarbone where it peeked out from the neckline of her dress.

"It's perfect," she said, leaning back in to kiss him..

Later that evening, Adam led Belle to the centre of the ballroom after the introductory speeches had been made. She was resplendent in a burgundy dress, accentuating the richness of her hair and the flush of her cheeks. Lengths of beautiful white lace accented her elbow-length sleeves; the same lace trimmed the modest neckline and the shift from bodice to full, slashed skirt. They danced swiftly and elegantly, Adam always making sure that the other dancers had plenty of room to move, and soon the ball was in full swing.

"You see," he said quietly. "Nothing to worry about."

"I suppose," she said. "I'm still a little nervous, though. My hands are shaking."

"I know a way to fix that," Adam said. She gave him a quizzical look, and in a few moments Adam had steered them to a small alcove. "The best way to not be nervous about something is not to think about it," he said.

"What do you propose as a distraction, then?" Belle asked.

"Look up," he murmured. He already knew what she would find – a small sprig of dark-green foliage and white berries, tied to the candle-sconces with a cheery red ribbon. So when Belle turned her head, he began pressing kisses to the side of her neck. She gasped – whether from the kisses or the mistletoe, Adam wasn't sure.

"You put your plan into action, I see," Belle murmured in a low voice.

"What can I say?" he whispered into her skin. She shivered, and guided his face away from her neck.

"We'll be missed before long," she said. Adam pulled away, unsure whether she wished to continue.

"Best make the most of it," she winked. "It would be a shame to let this go to waste. After all, it really showcases your commitment to seasonal traditions."

* * *

 **A/N: This was prompted by civilwarrose, who wanted to know how 2017!Belle and Adam would celebrate the first Christmas post-curse.**

 **I tried to include some French traditions, from what I could see online, but if these are from the wrong time period I can only apologise. The idea of the library becoming a girls' school I believe originated in the novelisation, which I still haven't read yet.**

 **Belle's Christmas dress is taken from Enchanted Christmas. There was no way to write it without seeming clunky, but Adam is wearing a green jacket and yes, he does basically look like a Christmas tree. (Although Christmas trees weren't a French thing, as far as I can tell, but a German thing that was exported to the UK when Albert married Victoria, which is well outside both our country and our era)**

 **Once again, still receiving prompts, but it might take a while for me to get to them. I'll probably update again before Christmas, but if I don't then Season's Greetings to you all.**

 **TheTeaIsAddictive**


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